


fin

by placidings



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: >:--), Implied Relationships, M/M, a dream come true tbh, martial law au, the first - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:09:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placidings/pseuds/placidings
Summary: In which history repeats itself.





	fin

**Author's Note:**

> (un-beta'd. mistakes are all mine lol)  
> shoutout to Stes for this wonderful [idea](https://twitter.com/devalierite/status/901442851153756161) . I owe u one, gurl. this was THE SHIT.

Isagani burns with the intensity of a thousand suns—it is in his eyes when he delivers a speech or writes a poem, it is in the hope and the conviction in his voice whenever he stands in front of an awed and empowered crowd, it is in him, it leaches out of his skin in waves, the revolutionary, youthful fervor he carried on his shoulders like a cape fit for a king. He burns, and he burns bright, enough to cast a light across the shadows that plagued the rest of them. Maybe that was why everyone was so drawn to him—it was so easy to put one's faith in him, to hand him their lives and join in fighting for the same cause as he did. Maybe that was why he never stopped in his tracks—because he knew there were people who trusted him, there were so many people he didn't want to let down, there were so many of them in safehouses; children of the motherland meant to fly free.

This is Isagani, the de facto student publication leader put into his position when their previous leader, Elias, went missing. This is Isagani, the future, the hope of the Filipino youth. This is Isagani, his best friend. The man he grew to love. The man he fell in love with. 

His internal tirade sounded like a Eulogy, Basilio thinks with a wince. He wasn't supposed to think of Eulogies; especially not when they're running, running as fast as they could, as far away as their legs could take them. Basilio, dragging Isagani by the wrist. Just moments ago; Isagani came off the stage after delivering another one of his poems, his face proud and radiant, glistening with sweat in the afternoon sun. He stood, straight-backed, the image of bravery, of valor, of freedom. Just moments ago, he found Basilio's eyes in the crowd, and when he did, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips and in his eyes. 

He nodded back. A full three minutes after their brief exchange, a line of Philippine Constabulary soldiers broke the horizon, heading straight for them.

Basilio had broken through the advancing crowd and grabbed Isagani by the wrist—when the protestors and the constabulary met in the middle, clashing in an amalgamation of wooden sticks, plastic shields, and torn banners, they were among those who ran. 

He had one thought, and it was to live. To get away, unscathed. 

But Isagani doesn't share the same thought--he plants his feet firmly onto the asphalt, forcing Basilio to stop. The latter whips around, panting and panicking. 

"What are you doing?" Basilio cries, his eyes wide, a bead of sweat tracing a clean trail through the red paint on his cheek. "We have to go!" 

Isagani casts a worried glance over his shoulder, where the rest of the students were fighting to hold their line against the barrage of a water cannon. "I have—I have to go back." 

"You're going to die!"

"I can't let them fight this one alone!" Isagani says desperately, trying to wrench his wrist out of Basilio's grip. "I'm the leader now, I can't just run!" 

Basilio grits his teeth—desperation is not his color, but now, it mingles with the dark brown of his irises and his sun-kissed skin. 

"I can't let you die!" His throat is raw, his voice hoarse--from the shouting earlier or from fear, Basilio couldn't tell. "I can't lose you, Isagani!" 

His grip slackens. Isagani stares at him, his face caught between a mixture of shock and wistfulness. Basilio knew what he was going to say even before he said it, and it was enough to staunch the despondency bleeding through him. 

"I'm sorry," Isagani yells over the commotion. "I'm sorry, Basilio, but there are bigger things than the two of us." 

Something in him snaps—it may have been his heart, or his last lingering thread of hope in the futile war they were fighting, or his will to go on. Either way, Basilio breaks. He breaks, in the exact moment he was supposed to stay strong, stay sane. 

"Fine!" Basilio screams, shoving Isagani by the chest. He never breaks in plain sight, but there it was, leaking out of him; crystalline rivulets spilling down his face. "Fine, fuck, get the fuck away from me! _Bahala ka sa buhay mo! Tangina!_ " 

And damn it, Isagani stands in the middle of the chaos, staring at him in surprise. Soon, the shock in his irises melt into guilt, then he closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it is pure flame, pure embers. 

Isagani runs. He leaves without another word, to answer to the calls, the cries of his countrymen. 

There's no going back—Basilio forces himself to leave, to run in the opposite direction, to save his life. He could see a bleak future with no one else to share his life with, if he survives this whole ordeal, but frankly, it didn't matter. Not anymore. 

The sound of a gun firing—once, twice, three times, four, countless times--break through the surface of his thoughts. 

Basilio stops. The numbness subsides, and as though he were a moth drawn to a flame, he whirls back around, scanning the fallen figures in the distance. 

He runs. 

"Gani! Isaga

**Author's Note:**

> yes, it's finished. >:--)  
> not-so-fun fact: this was based on [Juvelyn Jaravello and the Escalante Massacre.](http://www.bantayog.org/jaravello-juvelyn/) #NeverForget


End file.
